Lust In Action
by HugAZombie
Summary: Alpha Dogs Series: Hunters Arc 1. "Every story has a beginning. This is theirs." Merthur slash. Werewolf!Arthur and Werewolf!Merlin
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. _

_**Notes: **__This was originally an 'original story' but then I thought, hey you don't see many werewolf!Merlin or Arthur (why would you when dude, Merlin is magic) but I thought it would be interesting and I have an unhealthy love for werewolves and vampires any so..._

_Only six chapters and is really just a beginning story with an unnecessary sex scene between Merlin/Other which I want there because I want to practice writing sex scenes and don't want to screw up on the main pairing so there we go. Sorry. No Merlin/Arthur action except kissing in this one, and probably a bit of feeling up. In the sequel however (which is seven or eight chapters. Not sure, I may need to split a chapter) there will be :) The "Hunters Arc" of this universe will have four stories including the two mentioned, chapters ranging from five to fifteen probably. I haven't gotten the last two planned out yet. There will be another, hopefully as least two more arcs that will consists of two to four short stories much like this one. _

_I will say that at times the characters may seem OOC, how could they not when they also have the wolf persona and stuff. So they may be rough around the edges :)_

_Hope you enjoy._

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><p><strong>Chapter One: <strong>

A lone wolf loped amongst the undergrowth. The trees towered over it like majestic kings as it snuck through the darkness, their leaves a deep black-green in the subdued moonlight. A whispering wind caressed all in its path, heavy with the promise of rain.

The creature slunk in the shadows, weaving past trees and under low hanging branches with caution. It wasn't a remarkable creature, no bigger than your usual wolf with deep amber eyes and a matted coat that was a deep brown. Twigs snapped underfoot and the wolf tensed, long, firm limbs tense in apprehension. It paused for a beat before it eased forward once more. Its nose scuffed along the ground occasionally, as if reassuring itself of its path before it continued.

There were quiet scampering of nocturnal creatures, a scattering of stones or a murmur of brushed leaves that caused hesitation before the wolf would snort, shaking its head and carrying on. It had left the city far behind, the decadent stench of pollution, greed and stale food bleeding into the comforting smell of the rain and wind, of the musky earth beneath its feet and heady scent of the trees. It caught the distinctive scent of other animals: there a rabbit, there a badger. It cared little for those insignificant details, however. Let the rabbit run afoul of another beast, the only prey this wolf was hunting was human.

Following the scent, the wolf limbered up a trail well known to dog walkers. The slightly familiar scent of various breeds teased the wolf's nose but it wasn't distracted by the primal annoyance that another intruded upon what was, at the moment, its territory. Beneath the scent of its cousins, there was the tang of humanity – perspiration, general daily grime, the bitterness of coffee. It was not the trail it had hoped for, but it continued nevertheless, the underlying trace of depravity exactly to its taste.

The woods were as silent as a wood could be. Overhead an owl hooted, a low, loud sound before it flicked its wings and dashed off from its branch. The wolf's eyes glanced up, studying the fleeing creature as it melted into the black before returning its focus to the task on hand.

Finding the humans.

It followed the trail for a bit longer, quietly prowling the trees, ducking its body low when needed, and navigating the woods as if it had grown up there. It had paused for a moment, resting against the thick rough bark of a particularly old tree, when it heard them. There in the not too far distance was the baying of another wolf. There was a chorus of them, howling into the sky and raising the hairs on the wolfs' neck. It bristled, hackles rising. It backed up against the tree, slipping around it and into a small ditch. The strange wolves were coming closer – their panting breath, thundering paws and baying howls were a crescendo of noise and the wolf growled low in its throat at the interruption.

The wolves, tens of them, bounded past its hiding spot. It crouched low in the dirt, careful to avoid the unwelcome companions. The scent of wolf, of brotherhood, almost sent a whine of longing tumbling past its lips. So close were its kin, they thundered past it. Their lithe long bodies were a blur of predatory motion. The wolf couldn't detect the prey, but it knew on runs like this there didn't need to be one – simply the urge for freedom, a yearning for the taste of nature.

It had to tense and lock its limbs to keep itself from rising to join them. The last few stragglers loped past it, among them a youngling – a mere cub if its gangly limbs and thinness were anything to go by. The wolf watched the cub pass, a whimper of distress at what it represented choking it before tumbling into the quiet.

One of the wolves accompanying the cub stopped, ears pricked and eyes wary and narrowed. An elegant head twisted to survey the area for an enemy, snout quivering for a scent but only picking up the muddled smells of the wolves before it loped after the others.

The wolf in the ditch relaxed, muscles loose in a moment of relief before it righted itself in one swift movement. Staying crouched, the wolf climbed from the hole and stared for a moment in the direction the other wolves had headed. The wolf blinked, shook its head viciously, and set off on a trot straight ahead.

The scent of the humans had thickened with freshness and the wolf would not allow the opportunity to pass for frivolities.

The wolf stepped over a felled tree, body curving with elegance as it moved. Its nose twitched, the musk of the other wolves had long since faded and now all it could smell was the stench of diesel fuel and human perspiration. It edged closer. There were the rowdy, rambunctious jeers of the humans, loud laughs and ugly sneers. Bottles clinked against each other and the radio of their vehicles bawled out popular tunes from scratchy, near broken speakers.

The wolf crept closer, watched as grown man of various builds squatted around a deadened fire or gathered around a car. There were at least ten. A few were scrawny runts, handling shot guns and weaponry as if they were the Holy Grail. Those cubs were the newly qualified, the wolf recognised. They held a flicker in their eyes, a yearning for a taste of real action. Their movements would be hurried, overestimated by adrenaline and youth and lack of practice. They would be the easiest to outwit.

It was the others the wolf was wary of, the large men whose bodies were thick with muscle. Their rifles stayed close by their feet, ready for action if and when it should come. They knew patience, they knew the joy of the kill – unlike the boys who sought only their first kill, these men enjoyed the chase, the pain, the humiliation and domination. They would not be so easily tricked, least of all by a singular wolf.

Hidden from view by the large, dense foliage the wolf settled for a long night's observation of the men below in the clearing – it was too much to hope more would come of this night. It thought back to the others, kin in spirit if not blood, and knew why the men had gathered here. Before it had not thought of it, thought only of the answers they might possess, of the information they might have secreted away in their vans and minds.

The wolf shifted, a stone lodged uncomfortably in its flank. The stones beneath moved with it, tumbling down the side and knocking an uneasy tattoo onto the large rocks below. The wolf shrank into the dark as the men closest paused, encouraging questions from the others.

"What's got you lot jittery? Scared of a few wolves, eh?"

"Fuck you, Smithy. Those mutts aint nothing to be scared off," a scrawny boy nearest to the wolf jeered. But his black eyes still skimmed the area warily, peering into the shadows for the glistening fangs and glinting claws of their foe. The wolf glanced down at the boys' hand that clutched the gun – his fingers had tightened.

"If you jump at the smallest noise you aren't going to be any help to us, laddy," the man named Smithy replied from where he sat inside the car, twisted to the side so his feet were flat on the mossy ground. His bald head shined in the dancing fire light and elbows rested on his knees. The wolf ignored the vague smell of nicotine drifting from the cigarette in the man's fingers. The men surrounding the boy just watched the interaction silently, muttering amongst themselves, some in annoyance and others with jest and mocking.

Those closest to Smithy simply ignored him and continued their own private discussions.

"Fuck you," the boy intoned again fiercely, loudly. "I'm not scared of 'em. If one came close to me I'd blow its head fuckin' off before it could do anything." The wolf didn't doubt that the boy would be the kind to shoot in fear rather than freeze. Not one to be taken lightly, it noted. Smithy just chuckled into his cigarette, opening his mouth to reply when the chorus of howls started up once more.

The wolf tensed, head raising a little. Judging by the noise, at least some of the wolves from before had wound up on the other side of the men's campsite, as of yet unaware of the trouble they had roused. All the men in the clearing below had tensed. The boy who had so proudly proclaimed his courage had sweat beading on his forehead and his fingers clenched his gun in a white-knuckled grip. The wolf was unsure whether it was fear or excitement that thrummed through the boys' veins and, disgusted, figured it was both.

There was a flurry of movement below now. The men were scurrying to gather their weapons and devices, hurriedly throwing ammunition and blades to each other and a backdrop of vehicle doors being slammed closed. One boy crowed his delight as he loaded his gun with silver and another two men high-fived with wide grins and sheen of pleasure.

Smithy was addressing his men like a general, assuring that while there were plenty of wolves out there, there were enough men here to at least make a dent in their numbers. He wished everyone a happy hunting and the men departed, splitting into small groups of two to four, dividing off and disappearing into the darkness towards the earlier howls that had since quietened into nothingness. They stomped and stampeded through the undergrowth, louder than the wolf imagined hunters would've been, leaves rustling as they were harshly brushed by and branches groaning as they were shoved aside. The noise soon melted into the nothingness and the wolf knew it was only a matter of time before the first shot rang out.

The wolf blinked away the thought, this had not been something it had accounted for but it thanked its lucky stars. The remorse and regret that its luck may come to at cost of some of its kin was great but forcibly fleeting. Better wolves it had no association with than the wolf it was so desperately trying to find. Their lives, it thought harshly, with all the passion of one who had loved and lost, was a sacrifice it was more than willing to take.

The stern conviction in its mind was weak and faltering. The wolf chose to dwell on it no more.

It waited in the shadows until it was sure the area was clear of men before it rose from its crouch. It shook its hair free of crumbles of dirt and small flakes of stone before clambering down into the clearing, legs useless and slipping on the loose earth. It skipped to the bottom ungracefully, staggering a little to right itself before it gazed around the camp. It was a sorry sight. There in the centre was the carcass of a fire, the tinge of bitterness in the air. There were beer cans and bottles strewn across the grass, cigarette butts rolling in the light breeze. Wrappers rustled and crinkled, drifting across grass and under the cars. The closed car doors blocked entrance for the wolf and it narrowed its eyes, unwilling to even the odds stacked against it.

Instead it simply nosed around the first car, trying to detect anything familiar – that faint trace of something of kin. It wrinkled its nose, snorting as it backed away. There was the harshness of drugs, the twang of alcohol and faintness of arousal. The wolf scrubbed its nose with a paw before darting around that vehicle to the next – a large white van that could be quite promising in the wolfs venture. One of the doors around the back hadn't been fully closed so the wolf, after a cursory glance around the clearing, nudged it open with its nose leapt inside. The back of the van and the right hand wall were covered with bolted down shelving. Stacks of ammunition, food and weaponry mounted the iron shelving. There were blades and guns and equipment the wolf had only seen in passing – skinning tools. The wolf hunched away from them, wincing.

Outside the first shot of the night broke the silent like a lightning bolt, setting off the nearby birds into a flurry of panicked motion, and there was a distant whine of pain. The wolf bowed its head for a moment before turning to his left to investigate the four cages; two stack on top of each other. They were just big enough to fit in an average wolf – they were filthy, blood stained the bottom, fur was caught in the corners of the bars and the wolf could even see a chipped bit of tooth in one and a broken nail in the other.

It ran its nose along the bars, twitching its nose against the dust and hair, snorting a little before continuing. Certainly wolves had been held here, but not the one it was searching for. It backed away from the cages, and moved instead closer to the shelves. A few large boxes littered the latter end of the van, stacked high and pressed close against the shelving too keep some floor space clear. It sniffed it curiously before pushing at one box with its head, nudging it off and to the floor.

It fell with a thump that had the wolf tensing, ears pricked and muscles coiled. When there was no further noise, the wolf padded over to the opening of the box, pushing the flap aside and ducking within. There was a heartbeat, the wolf then backed up hurriedly, tripping over its own legs in its haste to put distance between it and the box. The scent of wolf was heavy, but death overrode it, clinging to the wolf's sense as it shook its head.

Some of the boxes contents and followed it, caught on its claws maybe, or its own panic to be gone. It was wolf hide, fur matted but clean and preserved. A paw reached out limp pleads of mercy toward the wolf, claws still in place but blunted, paws probably stuffed. The wolf could only assume the head was also stuffed, intertwined with its death mate, because there was not the stench of just one wolf but multiple. Each of those three boxes had at least two wolf hides within, preserved for the highest bidder to decorate their floors.

The wolf swallowed. Whilst it was sure its pack mate was not within one of these boxes, it had caught the faintest of whiffs clinging to the coat that now spilled from the box. Wherever that wolf had come from, his pack mate was also.

The wolf whimpered a little in fear, backing from the van and turning to jump out, its legs were a little shaky with the discovery – it knew it had the right group of hunters, but what condition would his pack mate be in if and when it found it? Could the other wolf already be dead?

Voices, arguing noisy voices approached too quickly from the foliage, and the wolf could only stare as the men came into the clearing. There was a heartbeat of hesitation between man and beast before man regained his senses and lifted their guns.

The wolf bolted.

The men behind cursed and yelled but the wolf paid no mind. It streamed across the forest, skidding around trees, bounding over branches. It ducked and weaved, as the men blundered and trampled behind him. A shot blasted through the air and the wolf screamed as the bullet splintered into the tree just ahead of it. Bark shattered and the wolf scampered backwards changing direction slightly. Its heart pounded in it chest as it ran, its limbs burned and shook. Its paws slipped and slid on the loose earth, moss and its nails caught on peeling bark. Branches grabbed at its coat as it dashed past, legs stumbling as the men jeered at its panic. Another gunshot sped towards it and it ducked, shooting left and leaping a mite too early to clear a felled log.

It stumbled, regained its footing only to lose it once more. The men were chuckling, ugly bursts of pleasure. The wolf scrambled to its feet once more, quickly tiring. The men had fallen behind but they would soon catch up.

It staggered a little further, its back left hock flaming in pain from its fall. It whimpered, struggling forward at only half the speed, legs unsteady. The men were closing in and two shots rang out – the birds above scattered like shrapnel – and the pain electrified the wolf's flank and thigh.

The wolf screamed and fell, desperately using its front paws to try and drag its self to safety. Blood, coppery and slick, bloomed like a rose from its wound. The men were approaching quicker now, their whoops of joy cutting through the air. The wolf snarled and continued to try and drag itself, before finding itself at the feet of another wolf.

The injured wolf bared its teeth and growled defensively as the other simply looked at it. Then the wolf sidestepped the injured one, and the wolf spotted four others following. They stealthily moved into the darkness, the hunters having slowed their approach with no need to hurry. The injured wolf whimpered a little, agony blazed through its veins, shocking and numbing the wolf like an electric current. Black clouds were gathering in the corner of its vision, and it struggled to stay afloat but it was a one battled it would not win.

Giving into the pain and the darkness, the wolf expected not to wake up.

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><p><em>So what do you think?<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. _

_**Notes: **__Here is part two. When I read through the different arcs I have, I realise that they can all be really just one big story, but I do find it difficult to write the longer stories (hence why my new story The Footman will be a slower updater than the others) but oh well. _

_I will say that at times the characters may seem OOC, how could they not when they also have the wolf persona and stuff. So they may be rough around the edges :) Merlin/other slash (one time only), underlying Merlin/Arthur slash. This also has nice!Morgana in it. I'm not sure how long that will last._

_Hope you enjoy._

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><p><strong>Chapter two<strong>**: **

Merlin awoke with a groan, the dull throb of pain worming its way through his dreams. The bed he found himself in was one he didn't recognise and the scents around him were alien. He opened his eyes hastily, hissing as he pushed himself to sit up. He looked down at himself, the feeling of smooth sheets over his body was unfamiliar – it wasn't often that he slept naked.

He shifted his body and grimaced. He pushed the duvet aside. Stained bandages were wrapped around his stomach and thigh. They would need changing very soon, he noted, but his thoughts were dominated more by who had aided him in the first place. The thought that someone he did not know had undressed him whilst he was unawares made him uncomfortable.

He gingerly fingered the wound on his side, flashes of the night before (at least he hoped it was only the night before, he would have hated to have lost any more time than that) flickering through his mind like an old television programme. The images were grainy with the monotone and limited colours of the wolf's sight. Merlin rubbed at his jaw, rough after a few days without shaving, and shook his head.

He should've kept a better ear out for any early returns, he should've been more aware of his surroundings, but he had been far too consumed by the scent lingering faintly on those coats._ Her_ scent. He brought it back to the front of his memory with little effort, closing his eyes to enjoy it for a moment, the sense of familiarity it carried, before he released it with a soft exhale.

He had been searching for Her for months now and because of his stupidity his only lead may have already vanished.

He swallowed down that self-pitying, helpless feeling that threatened to consume him and shifted his legs over the side of the bed with a pained hiss. Pain shot up his side like lightening and bloomed in his thigh spreading along the limbs and connecting so that the whole right side of his body spiked and burned. He breathed harshly through his nose, bracing himself for the piercing agony as he forced himself to stand, clutching the thin over sheet around his naked waist protectively.

His legs buckled beneath him like a foal learning to walk and a small, pathetic noise managed to escape the press of his lips. Bloody silver and bloody, fucking hunters. Merlin knew his face was at least a few shades paler than usual and his hand curled protectively over the wound on his side.

He tried to steady his breathing, holding onto the bed post with a white-knuckled grip before he even thought about moving. Slow, unsteady steps inched him across the room towards a door he assumed to be a bathroom. He fell heavily into it, leaning on the cool painted wood with his uninjured side for a moment before pushing the door open and stumbling into the bathroom. A sigh of relief breezed past his lips and he ambled over to the toilet.

He had been too focused on relieving himself without collapsing to notice the foreign scents just outside the door. When he did, Merlin once again cursed his inattentiveness. The wounds were clouding his mind and the sight of these strangers made him defensive. The wolf darted forward in his mind on instinct and was kept there by his weakened state and possible danger. Merlin bared his teeth, one hand pressed to the wall to steady himself and the other clutching the sheet around himself.

There were four others facing him and all shifters by the scent of them (one scent in particular was noticeable but Merlin ignored it and the implications for now). The first, a brunette male, stepped forward with his hands up and palms forward in a motion of surrender. Merlin snarled, backing up a bit against the wall as the stranger approached, ignoring the flare of pain and continuous ache.

"We're not here to hurt you," the man said in a soothing voice that did anything but calm him. The wolf in him battled against the human, snarling warnings and threats. Merlin's eyes fixed on the one in front, watching him over the others, although he didn't let them out of his sight either.

"Just let us help."

There was a tense moment. Merlin's lips were still peeled back in an ugly sneer, a low threatening growl rumbling in his chest, before the smell of cub assaulted his senses and surprise made Merlin falter. The boy, a young dark haired creature with blue eyes that could have been a sibling, approached with his head tilted in curiosity. Merlin watched him; his wolf was still a little tense but sensed no danger from a wolf younger and weaker than himself.

The boy stopped just in front of him for but a second, before leaning forward and burying a nose in his uninjured hip to scent him. Merlin watched perplexed as the child pulled back only to wrap his arms loosely around his waist and stay there, just hugging Merlin as though he were pack.

And the wolf receded, handing the reins back to Merlin who, while confused and amused, allowed himself a moment to pat the boy on the shoulder before returning that hand to the wall to continue supporting himself. The dark haired boy gently pressed against him and Merlin allowed it, stepping back with a wince to lean his back against the wall instead.

"We aren't here to hurt you," the bearded man repeated softly and Merlin focused on him, mind clearer. He swallowed a little, his now free hand petting the head of the child still clinging to him sweetly.

"You were shot with silver." The woman approached this time, still keeping a good distance away, however. She was an icy beauty, pale skinned and dark hair with eyes ice blue. He wondered for a moment if the child and she were related in some way, but pushed the thought aside. "We managed to chase off the hunters, injure one..." her smile was dark for a moment before she continued. "I managed to clear out the silver and dress the wounds. It wasn't in there for long."

That was good, it meant the wounds wouldn't take as long to heal but he would have two extra scars to add to his slowly growing collection. Merlin nodded, casting her a grateful look.

"Thank you."

The woman only smiled.

"My name is Leon," the bearded man said and Merlin looked at him closer now. The man carried the scent of the mated (it seemed to match that of the woman, he thought), was solidly built but had kind eyes. His smile was genuine, pleasant. It made Merlin want to smile back, the comfort of warmth and the retreat of the wolf allowing more of Merlin 'the Human' to show.

And he wasn't one to be moody.

"I'm acting alpha of this pack and Morgana, here is my mate." The woman, Morgana, only glanced at this 'Leon' with fondness and smiled briefly once more.

Merlin took the momentary pause to turn to the fourth and final shifter to intrude, a blond haired man with a queer expression in his blue eyes. Merlin studied him, flaring his nostrils and flinching back from the scent that assailed him. Now he took notice, he recognised the tang of that scent, knew what it meant.

And by the predatory gleam in the blond wolf's eyes, so did he.

_Mate._

Merlin swallowed a little. He squared his shoulders even as he pressed back against the wall, dislodging the still nameless, silent boy at his waist. "And you are?" His voice was a little sharper than usual, but then this was not a usual situation.

The blond's eyes dropped from Merlin's, appraising instead the line of his throat, roving down the alabaster chest and pausing at the clenched fist keeping the sheet in place to hide Merlin's nudity.

The smirk was what sparked the irritation. "Arthur. And yourself?" And the obvious cockiness, Merlin thought, as if the man expected Merlin to fall to his knees in complete submission, throat and belly bared, after just a look.

The arrogance was almost unsightly.

Merlin had never liked the thought of predestination, a superstition that seemed to haunt the shifter race – who planed and plotted by more than just the phases of the moon, but they the words of the pagan Goddess and whispers of destiny. To Merlin it was just another chain, another bind of his freedom that infuriated him. Merlin had loved, still loved, and yet because of that scent, that annoyingly attracting scent that threatened to crowd and cloak him until a Claiming took place, would dissolve that relationship near entirely.

Merlin grit his teeth against the impulse to not only obey mate (the power imbalance between them both would settle after a claiming, relationships between wolves were not so starkly black and white as literature would lead one to believe) but also to obey an alpha.

And that thought made Merlin frown.

"Merlin." He looked to Leon, apparent 'acting alpha' (whatever that meant, in all his travels he hadn;t heard of an 'acting alpha') as he said it, disregarding the blond with surprising ease. Arthur growled low in his chest, a sound that would have sent Merlin's ears flat against his head and head bowed slightly if in another form. For now he bore against it, standing as tall and proud as injury would allow and eyes focused solely on the one holding a true position of power.

Leon was glancing between them, realisation dawning in his eyes, illuminating them with the knowledge before he stepped back a little. Morgana was hiding an amused smile behind her hand, badly. And the boy at his waist remained apparently oblivious, although Merlin had a sneaking suspicion that the boy was more aware than anyone truly realised.

And Arthur's growling was becoming louder and more threatening.

The more 'dominant' partner – for lack of a better term – always got the harder end of the stick in the mating process because shifters did not only have one mate but many potentials – perhaps the Goddess' 'just-in-case' policy. Because of this, biology instilled in the 'dominant' a need to impress the more submissive, to protect and preen and attract the attention of 'her' (because same-sex partners were a minority in this world too) in order for 'her' to accept the courting process, a means to integrate and please both wolf and human tendencies, so that 'she' was willing and happy to willing to carry and raise young.

Of course, Merlin could not carry children but the sequence of events remained the same regardless.

"So _Mer_lin." Arthur's words were more of a bite. A child, Merlin thought with a mental shake of his, a spoiled one at that. "What exactly where you doing at the hunters' camp? Are you an _idiot_?"

It seemed ignoring the man was enough to rouse a temper in him. Merlin would have smiled, if it wouldn't ruin everything. He really didn't have time for mates when _Her_ life was on the line, somewhere out there where he could not yet reach Her.

"And what makes you think I'll answer you, prat, _you_ aren't the alpha here."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Merlin thought he should have taken into account his injuries before truly setting off a larger wolf than himself. Arthur darted forward with a speed Merlin should have anticipated (and the young one apparently had, before he shifted to the left rather quickly and released his hold) and pinned Merlin to the wall with his own body, although carefully enough to ease any pressure on his injured side.

A strong hand slammed into the wall next to Merlin's head (who flinched on instinct, the memory of the gunshot still ringing in his head) and the other twisting in dark locks and pulling his head back a little to bare Merlin's throat. "No, but I am something _else_." He ran the tip of his nose along the exposed flesh greedily, and Merlin hated the small spark of interest that flared beneath the anger at the man's audacity. There was a hint of grazing soft lips and Merlin's eyes fluttered a little despite himself, the conscious cursing nature all the while quietly fading into the background.

Then there was a nip of teeth and that snapped Merlin out of the light haze that clouded his mind. He tensed, butting his shoulder sharply into Arthur's collarbone and eliciting a pained grunt as the blond's head jerked away from him.

"Don't even think about it," he growled. "You need my permission to do that, moron, and I really don't think I gave it to you." His voice was lower than usual, rough around the edges in his anger. Arthur blinked slowly, shook his head, then glowered at Merlin as if it were his fault that Arthur was a prat and became a victim of instinct like a child.

Well, a child would have more control than Arthur at that moment in time, Merlin thought. They usually just sulked and pouted when ignored.

"Arthur, I think you should go and cool down. Outside." Leon's voice was soft as his eyes, but stern as a headmaster. Arthur tensed, ran a tongue around his teeth before he nodded stiffly, eyes still glued to Merlin.

Then he turned and left abruptly. Merlin watched him leave, eyes moving on their own accord as they took in the blond's admittedly impressive physique before being pulled away by a snaking hand pulling him into a loose hold once more.

Merlin looked down and smiled at the boy, hand stroking his hair gently. As he calmed a little, the strength of the pain in his side returned, spiking and electric. He winced, shifting his feet a little and Morgana made an annoyed noise and started forward.

"Good thing I was going to change those dressings anyway," she said with a frown, gazing at the now blood soaked bandages. "Really, Arthur should know better. Is he going to act such a brute when he's Alpha?" She shook her head, turning to Leon. "You should go after Arthur, and I'll redress Merlin's wounds." Leon inclined his head and disappeared after flashing a welcoming smile in Merlin's direction, and Merlin didn't bother to hide a smile. Leon may be Alpha, but it seemed Morgana called the shots.

"Now you should've been more careful, no matter how infuriating my brother can be," she scolded, as she took one of his arms, the boy moving also, lending his aid without question. "And trust me; I know just how infuriating the man can be." Her smile was friendly and warming and Merlin found himself returning with ease.

"He's your brother?" Merlin asked, a little breathless after the walk, and settled on the bed, sheet still wrapped around him. He felt quite uncertain about showing his nudity in front of a woman he barely knew (even a mated one) and a child.

She hummed an affirmative as he dragged open the side drawer and pulling out strips of gauze and bottle of anti-septic. "A few years older." They didn't speak much after that, Morgana just carefully and dutifully cleansed and wrapped his oozing, raw wounds expertly and the boy watched with the air of a student, bright eyes narrowed in concentration as he watched the movements.

Merlin settled back once she was finished, relaxing into the inviting warmth of the bed.

"You can stay here for as long as you need," Morgana assured kindly as she packed away her things and placed them back in the drawer. "I think you will be rather fun to have around." And her wicked smile was back before it softened. "Arthur is an infuriating idiot," she continued. "But he isn't a bad person. Our father was just... difficult and Arthur has unfortunately taken after him."

Merlin smiled a little. "Doing the sisters duty, eh?"

She laughed a little. "I'm not saying mate with him, your life would probably be easier without it, but maybe don't just judge him so completely now without giving him a chance. You're Potentials for a reason.

"Now," she straightened herself out a little. "Try not to tug those wounds too much." Her eyes slid to the boy curled up quite comfortably next to Merlin. "Mordred, come on, let's leave Merlin alone."

The boy just glared at her for a moment before settling once more, encouraging Merlin's absent petting on his hair and Morgana smiled bemusedly before shrugging and leaving them both to their thoughts.

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><p><em>Gahhhh I think Morgana is so OOC. Sorry guys xD I hope you enjoyed it anway. If it does come across as confusing, or has terrible typos and gramma issues, please tell me and I'll get round to editing it so it's better. :)<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. _

_**Notes: **__Here we are! The next part in this short first story in a series. I have now decided who the 'Other' will in a later chapter (because, as I have mentioned, Arthur and Merlin do not get 'together' in this story) it will be Gwaine. And I have plans to bring him back in a later story, one which plot is partly formed but I have to decide where to slot it in. Aha. Also, when I have finished the three/four stories that create this 'arc' I will rename the stories: __Hunters' Arc: Lust in Action__ or __Hunters Arc: The Unkindest Cut of All__ ( title of the sequel) _

_If you want, admittedly limited, information on the coming sequels look on my profile. As I plan them more thoroughly the information will also be updated for those interested. _

_I will say that at times the characters may seem OOC, how could they not when they also have the wolf persona and stuff. So they may be rough around the edges :) Merlin/Gwaine (one time only, explicit), underlying Merlin/Arthur slash. This also has nice!Morgana in it. slight OOC!Mordred I'm not sure how long that will last._

_Hope you enjoy. _

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><p><strong>Chapter three<strong>**: **

The pack was one of the smaller ones Merlin had encountered. Mordred, Morgana, Leon and the Prat were joined only by two others: Kay, a younger male who looked to Arthur with awe and respect in his eyes that agitated the wolf in Merlin (much to his annoyance) and Nimueh, a dark headed female that could have been the sister to both Morgana and Mordred. He had been surprised when they spoke of no known blood relationship.

He was still occupying the small room in which he had awoken, the wounds still weeping when he jerked his body too far and sending bolts of pain up his side. Silver lingered in the blood long after the bullet or shard was removed, and oftentimes took much longer than an ordinary wound to heal. Merlin found it irritating, the distant ache he barely realised, so used to it was he. Sometimes he found his fingers idling over the holes, lightly tracing the wound as he thought of other places that seemed so distant to him now.

Mordred still stayed with him, much to the surprise of the pack. Before, they told him, he had been quiet, distant. Forever locked in his thoughts. He was colder than you would expect of a child, his had been informed, hesitant of touch and choosey with words. But he had snuggled up to Merlin like a cub to its parent, rarely speaking but content to read with him, to play contentedly to himself on at the foot of the bed when Merlin retreated to the window sill in thought.

Sometimes he would talk in a voice no louder than a whisper, divulging what he liked about being a wolf and what he hated, the shows he enjoyed on TV and his favourite toys (sometimes he would offer them to Merlin, still standoffish in his behaviour as Merlin assumed was natural but with a sheen of shyness in his eyes) and about the pack. He would often bring Arthur up in conversation, but Merlin excelled in distracting him from talk that made his stomach twist and wolf hum with stories of his travels.

He was not troublesome boy overall, Merlin found. He quite enjoyed the boys' silent company. He was a comfort within the cage of the same, plain four walls of the small bedroom.

Arthur, as Merlin had already suspected, did not leave him alone after that first incident a few days ago. He would visit constantly throughout the day and Merlin was subjected to the man's teasing and innuendos, his posturing and preening and casual, subtle attempts to prove himself worthy and the annoyance after when Arthur realised just what he was doing. And he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the mans' company, their teasing banter and battle of wills. Morgana, in a bid to get them together despite her words (Merlin suspects anyway), had transferred his care to the blonde idiot as it was not unusual for silver to cause wounds to flare up at random times or infect other parts of the body if not properly or quickly enough cleaned. Which meant at least once a day Merlin had to suffer through the grazing, burning touches of the mans' fingers across his skin, and it was all he could do not to give into the call.

But he couldn't. Not when he had been so close to finding Her. To saving Her from whatever had befallen Her, or, in worst case scenario, giving her the memorial and burial a girl like Her so deserved.

However, his lack of reaction did not mean his senses weren't also working. His nose logged his scent and Merlin would shift slightly towards him whenever he entered. The aroma was masculine, earthy, human and wolf and all so interesting. It would come back to him in dreams and nightmares, or snagging his attention at random points during the day. His skin remembered the fire of his touch, the sweet longing for _moremoremore_, _now_ and _please._ All instinctual and yet he coulnt shove to the back of his mind like he could other things. The low growl of his voice, undetected by those not wolf, was a rumbling, comforting burr that would soothe nerves and pains and, for a fraction of a second, would make him hesitate.

And his eyes. Damn, his eyes were the worst of all traitors. Whenever he left his room his eyes would automatically seek Arthur out, settling on his form with a sense of security before Merlin regained control again. They would spot every blemish and mark, every imperfection and perfection. They noted how his build was tall and athletic, broad sloping shoulders and strong, muscled arms. He would notice the defined curve of a jaw and long noble nose. He would catch a flash of pristine teeth, only a little crooked and the glint in the prats blue eyes – mischievous and haughty and proud.

It was difficult to say the least, but the image of Her would keep him at bay. They were no longer lovers, something born out of a need to touch and be touched as well as genuine care, but he still loved her. In his own way, not quite like brother because that would dishonour the time they had had together with strange implications, but just as strongly.

He would not fail her again. If Merlin and Arthur had met at a different time, in a different life, he supposed the easy charm and biting banter would so easy make him fall. But he couldn't. Not yet.

Not until She was found.

/\/\

"_Mer_lin." He pivoted before he could stop himself. Arthur leant against the doorframe, arms crossed at his chest and a lazy smirk that caught Merlin attention. It both interested and irked him. Arthur knew the struggle Merlin had to ignore him, to brush past his attempts at fully engaging him. It was like a war between them, every time Merlin paid full attention was a win for him that he was obscenely proud of.

"I need to check your wounds." Merlin glanced back out of the window. A light fog had painted the streets below a miserable grey. He shrugged, intent to breathe through his mouth and keep his eyes elsewhere. He knew Arthur was looking on with a knowing smile.

He moved away from the window and slipped onto the bed as Arthur approached. He hitched up the borrowed shirt to reveal his side, no longer bandaged and finally healing. The dark veins of poison that once stood out against his skin no longer reached out from the puckered bullet wound, and the wound itself was scabbing over. A scar would undoubtedly be left on both his side and thigh but no other lasting damage.

He had been lucky.

"At least you having done anything stupid like tear the scab," Arthur commented, pushing a palm lightly over the wound. Merlin grit his teeth against a soft sigh but couldn't stop the bodily shiver. He ignored Arthur's winning smile.

"I'm not the idiot around here, that's you."

"I'm hurt by your allegation."

"What allegation? I have witnesses!"

Arthur laughed, reaching into the drawer beside the bed to pull out a pot of foul smelling paste that would supposedly help ease the scarring. Merlin tensed at the first touch and hoped in vain Arthur would attribute it to the chill of the paste. A fools wish, Arthur attributed every reaction Merlin had to himself. He was vain like that.

"Mordred doesn't count. He is bias." Arthur was kneeling on the floor at this point, the pot now sitting on the mattress beside Merlin, and was wiping his fingers on a towel. "Where is the little runt anyway? Usually he is lurking in corner around here."

Merlin rolled his eyes. There was no real hostility in Arthur voice, but there was something. A hint of jealousy maybe, and perhaps suspicion. It was not uncommon for Potentials with a severe age differences to interact differently, like close brothers, until the youngest was at an appropriate age for consummating. And perhaps there was something to Arthur suspicions, but Merlin doubted it. He just thought that Mordred, found as a cub orphaned and alone, saw the same pain of loss in Merlin that he himself felt.

It was an emotional kinship, not spiritual.

"He is out with Kay, shopping or something." Merlin's eyes flickered to the blonde before darting away again, shirt still shucked up under his arm so the paste could dry. Arthur's eyes seemed glued to the exposed skin and Merlin shifted under the intensity of the gaze. A longing rose up in his chest, a bubble of want that he ruthlessly denied. The wolf in him whined pitifully. "I prefer his company. He doesn't talk nearly as much."

"We don't have to talk..." Arthur was on his knees and leaning close. His warm palm was pressed to Merlin's uninjured side and his voice was low and seductive. "There are so many other things we could be doing. Talk can come later..." His breath whispered across Merlin's face and neck. A flush bloomed across Merlin's cheeks as he moved his head forward, turning slightly so his nose brushed against Arthur's cheek. The tension in the air was palpable. Arthur breathing hitched as Merlin shifted forward, hand cupping the side of his neck gently, eyelashes fluttering and eyes aglow with want...

Merlin jerked away and Arthur sighed, pulling his hand free of fabric and settling back on his hunches.

Arthur grinned up at him with a lazy shrug. "Almost. I'm getting closer and closer each time. No one can resist me forever."

"You are a prat, Pendragon." Merlin tore his gaze away and chewed his lip. His heartbeat was fluttering like a bird and his body and mind screamed at him to give in. "A prat who's full of himself." was it just him or words his words a little shaky?

Arthur winked. "If things go my way, you'll be full –"

Merlin threw a pillow at him as the man laughed. "Don't even think about finishing that sentence," Merlin warned but couldn't keep the stupid smile of his face or the laugh in his throat. It was crude but amusing. Merlin liked the contradictions between his proud and haughty nature and perverted or sarcastic humour.

"But I can think about it in general?" Merlin glared at him but it wasn't heated. Arthur smiled, and stood, placing the pillow back on the bed. Merlin followed him as if to show him out. "There's no infection, it seems to be healing nicely. I think it best if you look at your own thigh." Merlin stared up at him and Arthur stroked the back of his fingers down his cheek. Merlin leaned into the touch, eyes closing before snapping open.

"Give me something," Arthur whispered, eyes soft and doubtful before he looked almost as shocked as Merlin. Merlin's mouth opens to speak but no words come out. Instead its lips pressed against lips and warmth and wetness and _ohsogood_. Arthur hands gripped his hips and his hands curled around Arthur's neck.

Parts of him wanted to push the man away but the more dominant parts were begging for this to continue. Heat stirred between them, burning and flaring through his veins. Desire and want and need clashed and collided and Merlin whimpered into the mouth of his dominant. The kiss was brutal and beautiful, teeth and lips and tongues. It wasn't refined or pretty, it was harsh and heavy. Fingers bit and scratched as teeth nipped and nibbled. Was there blood? Who knew, all they knew was the weight of desire, gruelling and heavy, cloaking them, dragging them to the bed and oblivion.

The weight of Arthur above him was welcome, the tease of warmth flesh beneath his clothes and the pool of heat in his groin. It'd been so long, so long since he had felt anything even remotely close to this. Arthur's touch, taste, smell is addictive. And god, did Merlin want more. Needs more. Why did he resist for so long? Why was he such an idiot? This prat made him laugh, made him safe, made him want. Why?

_Ohpleasepleaseplease_...

Merlin shoved the man away for the second time within a few moments. His lips are swollen with lusty abuse and chest heaving. His body is aflame with sensation and awareness. His trousers are tight and uncomfortable.

Beside him, Arthur laughs a little breathlessly. "Okay, good...good." He sat up but Merlin didn't look at him. Arthur shook his head, hand cupping Merlin's face to turn him towards him. Arthur's smile was genuinely sweet. It was enough to break Merlin's resolve. "I will find out why you were hunting hunters. I will find out why you so desperately need to avoid this. I will break down those barriers and I will have you like you want me too. It's a promise Merlin." He leant forward and pressed a light kiss to Merlin's lips, causing the shorter man to keen slightly before he smiled and left the room.

Merlin touched a hand to his lips and closed his eyes. That promise seeped into his core. Temptation sang to him. God, how easy it would be to just stay. To allow Arthur to court him and to give him. The man, he had come to see, was noble and brilliant, and attractive and funny. He was proud and a prat and sometimes like to lord it over Merlin but he was...Arthur.

God.

He needed to leave.

* * *

><p><em>Nina: <em> _Of course Merlin wouldn't do that ahah! Merlin isn't one to bow to anyone, bless him. I am glad you enjoy this, thank you so much for reading and reviewing _

_Sangita: Thank you so much! I'm afraid the 'claiming' won't take place in this story but in the next one... perhaps aha. I hope when it does come, I will not disappoint _

_I do have a poll on my profile about a new fic, just to see if anyone was interested. If you could vote that would be lovely. If not then don't worry _

_Thanks. _


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. _

_**Notes: **__Here we are! The next part in this short first story in a series! Took a while because I wanted to get everything just right. _

_When it comes to the second story in this arc, I will just post it in this story still, just to make them all easier to find as there are about five arcs all in all, all with at least two stories in them. _

_I will say that at times the characters may seem OOC, how could they not when they also have the wolf persona and stuff. So they may be rough around the edges :) __**Merlin/Gwaine (one time only, explicit IN THIS CHAPTER),**__ underlying Merlin/Arthur slash. This also has nice!Morgana in it. slight OOC!Mordred I'm not sure how long that will last._

_Hope you enjoy. _

_Note: Sorry it has been so long. Uni and placement are kicking my arse, and this story was just not playing nice at all. Two more chapters to go until the next little arc._

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><p><strong>Chapter three<strong>**: **

It took a few minutes after Arthur's departure for Merlin to remember that yes, his limbs could move, and should, in fact, be moving rather rapidly in the opposite direction. He could not deal with partner right now, a partner that would strive to keep him tied to the pack and keep him from his chosen duty to rescue her from what keeps her.

His guilt would not allow him the indulgence.

He dropped his hand from his lips where it had rested since after the press of Arthur's lips, the imprint of his taste lingering – all spicy heat and _lustdesiremore_. He shook his head and stood on shaky legs. This was going too far. Any longer, and Merlin wouldn't be physically able to leave. Already it tugged harshly at his chest; the smell of Arthur had cocooned around him like a heavy blanket around a frozen man. It smothered him with a promise of fire and warmth and things he hadn't allowed himself to think about since she had gone missing on a routine run.

No more.

He _couldn't_ let this distract him.

He had to get out. Already his wounds had delayed him beyond forgiveness, he couldn't allow himself to dawdle any longer, to be exposed to the blaze of those clear eyes, the electric of that touch and the insistent urge to _bow_ to that wolf, to succumb, belly up and throat bared.

Not only was that not him, but he would not condemn her to her fate because he wanted a good fuck.

The twinge in his heart told him it was more than that, but he ruthlessly tore that thought away and shredded it.

The need to fuck was an easier notion to deal with and did not mean he had to turn to Arthur for relief.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, troubled eyes skimming around the impersonal room. He had been here little over a week, and already the welcoming nature of the pack and Arthur had caused an old wound – _unwantedhurtalone_ –to reopen and ooze poison. He rubbed absently at his chest before he froze. Beyond that door was not his pack.

Not _his_ pack.

His pack was afraid and alone, caught up in something she should never have been involved with in the first place. This was Merlin's fault and he _would _rectify it.

He crossed the room with purpose to the solid closet opposite the bed, within where a few sets of clothes, courtesy of Morgana. She and another of the pack had gone back to his shift site and collected the rags he called clothes – she had declared them both tragic and unsalvageable before tossing them into the bin, sneaking Arthur's credit card and disappearing for a few hours with Mordred in tow and returning with a few basic outfits.

Merlin stared at the clothes now. Two pairs of jeans a few casual tops and a nice shirt and shoes as well as a few pairs of underwear. He couldn't have thanked her enough and promised to pay pack every penny she spent, and he would still do so, but he just couldn't stay here anymore.

Not with Arthur lingering everywhere – pervading his dreams, searing across his senses, consuming his thoughts. His wolf whined in his mind, battling against the constraints that bound it. It begged with whimpering cries and vicious snarls and snaps to not continue with his plan, but the wolf didn't control him. Merlin was in charge, had been since he left _that_ place, and he would not surrender to those base instincts now.

The cost was too high a price.

He tugged a pair of snug fitting skinny-fit black jeans and the navy shirt from the hangers. Casting aside his clothes now, he changed. He didn't really have time for a shower and the cool of the clothes sunk through to his skin. They didn't, however, erase the scent that saturated him, fuelling his wolfs complaints and his own still warmed libido with silkily whispered promises. He gritted his teeth, buttoning up the last of his shirt.

He slipped his feet into the shoes, perhaps a little too casual for the outfit but all he had to work with. He glanced back over to the closed door, hesitation paralysing every muscle before he forced himself forward. He would have left sooner, he convinced himself as he approached the window. He would have, but he couldn't due to the injury.

It was only the injury that kept his thoughts of leaving from rising as much as they should have.

_Only_ the injury.

The wolf huffed in derision. It was less convinced then him.

He smoothed his tongue around his teeth, steeling himself for the painful tug he would know instinctively would jolt through his system after distancing himself physically from the only Potential he had been exposed to for any period of time. The window opened smoothly, sliding up and locking into place with ease. Merlin stuck his head out to gage the distance. The window was the second story, an easy enough drop for a shifter although still potentially risky should he land awkwardly.

He resisted the urge to glance back at the door and the low rumbling of low voices beyond that and clambered onto the window ledge. He was nimble enough to slip his legs through and angle the rest of his body (still inside the room) enough to that when he slipped off he wouldn't smack his face into the window pane.

The fall was freeing in a way he had always thought running was, but instead of the long, promising freedom promised by that, it was short, sharp and electrifying. It was the kind that could inspire fear as well as awe.

He landed as quickly as he jumped, knees bending with a brief pain ricocheting up his legs before losing his balance and falling to the right. He paused only to check his legs, to ensure no injury before scrambling up again.

Whispering a silent apology to the pack that had extended their kindness, Merlin turned his back and melted into the dark.

* * *

><p>The club was at the other end of the town he had found himself in. He just followed the pungent smell of alcohol and hormones, dragging him from a few pubs to a club that was a bit too popular for Merlin and towards instead a quieter club on the edge of town. The pain of separation from a Potential with whom he had unintentionally formed a tentative, natural bond had seared like a brand in his chest as it snapped before being swept away by the outraged howl of his wolf. A quick duck into an alley to recover his breath that all he really needed, shaking of the momentary to pain in the shadows before stepping back out into the ugly pooling light of a nearby lamppost and the flickering lights of the potentially shady club before him. He needed to get rid of the scent that had settled a little to comfortably in his senses, and how else then to drown oneself in a tornado of other scents, more overpowering smells like alcohol and lust and vomit and anger.<p>

The collective smell of body odour, stale and fresh, cocooned around him. It was an underlying baseline for the torrent of everything else – a complete hurricane of sweet and sour and disgusting and tempting. Smells and noise jarred through his senses like a blow to the face, smothering him for a moment as he stepped inside, slipping in past the bouncers with a group of loudmouth teen boys out on their first legal night out. They stank of cologne and perspiration, of testosterone and a general boyishness of a pup only just trying out its claws.

The music thudded, a repetitive beat that encouraged the dancers closer and closer together, bodies' slick with heat and sweat as they rubbed provocatively up against each other in the sea of people. Merlin resisted an urge to wrinkle his nose. This sort of establishment had never been his kind of thing, even without the overbearing noise and smell. Even when he had the opportunity to go 'clubbing,' he never enjoyed it. Too many bodies, too much alcohol that he couldn't take advantage of anyway and she had been too timid, too pretty and quiet, and he forever worried that someone would steal her away.

As it turns out, they didn't need a club for that to happen...

Merlin shook his head. He was here to soak up the scents of the place, maybe a few other people as they brushed by him then he was out of there and back to tracking those hunters and her. Merlin didn't have money so it didn't attempt o go to the bar, although, now he thought about it, a strong alcoholic beverage would be welcome, despite his quick metabolism that renders it useless in its given purpose. A few people jostled and shoved past him, which he is thankful for. Already the smell of Arthur was mostly undetectable to him whilst here, and with an hour or so more should be at manageable levels until he could find a place he could shower.

He moved across the room, he didn't really notice the other people, just brushed past them all, often with a brief apology before continuing. He glanced around for a toilet – never a pleasant prospect (the smell of urine and worse wasn't anyone's favourite, and places like this were the worst), but possibly the best place to check the progress of the re-scenting. He circled the dance floor a few times, dragged into arms of a few giggling girls whose perfume weren't so choking and the chemical of their makeup not quite as distracting before he pulled away with a charming smile and leaving as they either latch themselves onto another male or their girlfriends.

"Not much of a ladies' man, are you?" An arm slid around his waist and a voice was loud in his ear. Male. Long haired if the tickling at his neck is anything go by and unshaven as well. His smell was strange, not human per se, but not wolf or hunter either.

Odd. Comforting. Merlin relaxed a little bit into the hold, but still pulled the arm from around him. He turned facing a man only slightly taller than himself with wavy dark hair brushing the top of his shoulders and five o'clock shadow. Warm dark eyes observed him with a cocky grin that reminded him of Arthur. He was attractive and obviously knew it.

Merlin just half-shrugged with a small smile and went to turn away before a hand grabbed his arm, not tight but quick. When Merlin looked back at the man, the hand gentled further until it was just barely cupping his elbow.

"Don't leave just yet," the man said, dark eyes intense in their study, but warm in a way that made Merlin let his guard down just a little. He smelled different, a tang of something not quite right but his wolf was silent, as curious as himself. Merlin cocked his head, questioning. "Let me get you a drink, at least."

Merlin chewed his lip in a moment of indecision before nodding his head. The scent was strange, but it would overpower Arthurs' lingering one, would get rid of the slight distraction niggling at the edge of his senses – which could only be good.

"So, can I get your name?" The inquiry was shouted into his ear, loud enough to make Merlin wince a little. The man's voice was rough, sexy in a roguish way. Merlin eyed him quietly before shrugging.

"Merlin. Yours?" Elongated presence means a quicker way to cover the scent.

"Gwaine." His smile was less of a smirk and a lot more charming. Again Merlin could spot the similarities between Arthur and this man and an answering trill fired down his spine.

He squashed it. He wasn't here to get laid.

Although...

No.

"What you having?"

Merlin cast his eyes along the vast array of bottles lining the back of the bar. "Whatever you're having, I guess." He hadn't drunk in so long, since he was barely out of puberty that he couldn't remember what he liked and disliked.

Gwaine smiled that smile again, one that just seemed to draw Merlin just a little bit more. If the man smelt like wolf, Merlin would have assumed he was a Potential, but it just wasn't possible with humans.

Wolves mated with wolves. Human were far too fragile for the ferocity that slumbered within a wolf to survive a relationship, and no wolf had the one hundred per cent control needed to keep the human alive.

"Not really a drinker?" Gwaine's voice was quieter now, easier to manage and Merlin shrugged, with an easy smile.

"No, not really. Not much of anything it seems."

Gwaine laughed, bright and loud and nice. Merlin's eyes flicked to his mouth and back up. "I think you're a whole lot more then you let on, Merlin," Gwaine purred into his hair and Merlin tensed just a little before relaxing. The flirtation was easy to pick up, so was the scent of interest, and his wolf perked up. Surly and downtrodden from Merlins' decision, it obviously picked up the same kind of cues that Merlin did and spotted akin to Potential.

"Maybe I am," Merlin answered, gamely, smile coy and sweet (just what was he thinking? Really?), taking the bottle of some beer or other that he didn't really pay much attention to. He pushed away from Gwaine then, acting on instinct more than consciousness, because really, he wasn't here for this.

And yet, Gwaine, was so alike Arthur and yet so different. His darker colourings were pleasantly different, His smile wide and infectious, his humour a little less sharp and his touch less possessive. Because Merlin felt it now, again at the base of his spine, a touch of a warm hand to his shirt with warmth bleeding through to his skin.

It was light, slightly cautious before the press became firmer, surer but still remained light. Merlin turned, grinning as he took a drink of his bottle.

He was here to wash away the scent of Arthur.

That was all he was here for, and yet, when Gwaine smirked at him, drew him in and held him there and moved with him to the beat of the music, there was just _something_ – a fission of attraction and lust that shocked through him.

He shouldn't. He should leave now. He had only just left Arthur and this was just a backlash from the harsh breaking of the bond – it was looking for something else to latch onto and there was something about Gwaine that was familiar that reached back, too human to be wolf but not human enough to be ignored.

_But_, taunted a voice in his head, _didn't you want to get rid of Arthurs' scent. This would be perfect. Drown his smell in the scent of another._

_A moment of freedom. You deserve it after so long..._

There were lips on his.

* * *

><p>They were stumbling with laughs and breathlessness into the empty lift. The doors slid shut and Gwaine pressed Merlin into the wall. The kisses were hard and fast, messy but so good. The heat of Gwaines' body bled through Merlin clothes and Merlin loved it. He blocked out the few whispering comparisons playing in the back of his mind.<p>

Gwaine was not Arthur. Merlin could not have Arthur but he could have Gwaine, for tonight.

He could have his freedom for a night.

A bright ding broke through their embrace, followed by a mechanical voice. The doors slid open and Gwaine dragged Merlin into the carpeted hallway, hands planted on his slim waist and slipped under his shirt to investigate soft flesh.

Lips collided again, teeth nipping and tongues swiping. Merlin pushed into Gwaine, little begging noises pouring from his throat and Gwaine staggers backwards towards his door, one hand shoved in his own pocket to grab the keycard to open the door.

Gwaine's back slammed against the door in question and Merlin raked his nails down the shaped chest still hidden from view by cotton.

Heat seared and pulsed, cracking around them like an electrical current.

Somehow, between rough kisses, sharp bites and exploring hands, Merlin and Gwaine ended up on a comfortable sofa, Gwaine pushed down into the cushions As Merlin settled above him.

Clothes were quickly discarded with only a few struggles with bony limbs and chuckles. Gwaine sat up, Merlin in his lap and just looked at him for a moment. Merlin gazed right back, head quirked in question but Gwaine kissed him again, hands slipping down to Merlins' hips to adjust his position, so they could rut together, slick cocks rubbing against each other.

Merlin choked a little on his breath, head falling back to reveal a long pale stretch of throat. Gwaine was about to latch his teeth into the exposed flesh before Merlin's fingers twined in his hair and wrenched his head backwards, eyes a little panicked.

"No touching the neck," Gwaine pants, not stopping his shallow upwards thrusts, "got it." Merlin just leant down to kiss him once again, listening to the low almost animal grunts of his partner, to the blood rushing flames through his veins and thundering heartbeat. He concentrated of the silky smooth feel of their skin sliding together, the pleasure that unfurled low in gut, building up into a promising tidal wave, he focused on the smell of them together, of sweat and sex and heat and them, catching one last tinge of Arthur before it was doused by Gwaine.

Their hips move furiously together, rocking harshly into each other and the warm, agile hand that now wrapped around them both. Gwaine looked down to watch Merlin's hand work up and down them both rhythmically and groaned out a curse.

Merlin just smirked, face flushed and skin slick. Gratification slammed into him, a hurricane of bliss and pleasure spinning through his core.

"Fuck, Merlin."

Merlin laughed a little, twisting his wrist in such a way that had Gwaine, who had already been close after the quick brief fondling they had in an alleyway on the way to this room, tensing and then coming with a grunt. Merlin stroked himself whilst watching, fanning the flames of his own building orgasm, working himself closer and closer to the edge, the flame consuming and burning through his veins, blazing, scorching –

Then a whipcord snap of something broken, a flash of blond and blue and Merlin tumbled into his orgasm with relief and satisfaction, boneless enough to sag forward but with enough presence of mind to throw his hands out to hold himself up from crushing the man below him.

"Well," Gwaine breathed. "That was fun."

Merlin laughed, a little drunkenly almost, as his body relaxed in a post-coital haze. "Yeah, I'd say so." The laughter died off a little when Merlin recalled that singular flash of someone at climax, the thought that brought him over.

He shouldn't be surprised.

He shouldn't.

He wasn't.

Merlin let his body fall more to the side, to be supported by the back of the sofa. He was a sticky mess, the pleasure-numb relaxation of his limbs warring with the zipping thoughts in his brain. A gentle stroke to his thigh brought him out of his thoughts and Gwaine was looking at him contemplatively.

"Shower?"

Merlin smiled. "Shower sounds good, right now." He clambered off Gwaine, who took his hand and led him toward the bathroom. There was no awkwardness that usually came with a one-night stand, none of the uncertainty of how to work now that the haze of _pleasurelustwant_ was over.

Gwaine was comfortable.

Which was probably why Merlin's plans fell apart.

* * *

><p>The steam rolled out into the chill of the living room with them, as Merlin and Gwaine exited. Merlin dressed in a pair of overlarge jogging bottoms, shaking his head at a comment Gwaine made, back to the living room. They hadn't had sex in the shower, the moment had past for the moment and perhaps, if Merlin was planning on spending more time with him, it would crop up on them again.<p>

"No, you are so wrong. Spock is a legend."

Gwaine pulled a shirt over his head. "You are a geek. You should just – huh."

Merlin frowned at Gwaine, who was staring straight past him. Curious, Merlin turned and instantly wished he hadn't.

Sitting there, on the single chair, tense as a predator, was Arthur. Morgana and Leon stood behind him. Leon looked much the same as before, unassuming and kind but Morgana was studying him with those eyes that read the soul.

Merlin chanced another look at Arthur and regretted it. It was clear the man was only just hanging onto his temper, and sitting so close to the sofa, which was no doubt saturated with the smell of sex, was only making it worse. Those eyes caught his own.

"Oh dear," Gwaine said, tone still light and friendly. "You didn't tell me you had a significant other."

Merlin turned away with difficulty. "I don't." The low growl behind him was equal parts wounded and furious.

"No but you do have a Potential that does not want to let you out of his sight," Gwaine grinned, smiling wider at Merlins' abrupt tenseness.

"How –?"

"Another time," Gwaine interrupted with a careless shrug, "I may tell you. I am no danger to you I swear though." Gwaine rolls his shoulders, flicking his eyes appreciatively down Merlin's body and up again, ignoring the threatening rumble. "Until we meet again, Little Wolf."

Gwaine then clasps Merlins' chin and kisses him, withdraws to wink at Arthur before sauntering out the room.

The snap of the door closing was like a bullet.

Silence reigned as everyone prepared themselves for the confrontation to come.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Merlin, dammit. *Sobs*. It belongs to BBC. _

_**Notes: **__I AM SO SO SO SO SORRY ABOUT HOW LONG THIS HAS TAKEN! One more chapter of this story left. Then the sequel :D_

_Sorry its shorter than the rest._

_Twitter: ToniBohr  
>Tumblr: toniobscure<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter five<strong>**:**

The silence was calm, but tension settled heavy about it like a fog. The calm before the storm – because that was what was coming. A storm. And it would be furious.

Merlin still stared at the door, as if it would offer him salvation, but no such dream was to come. Gwaine had disappeared with a grin and a flourish. How he knew of werewolf and potentials teased at Merlin's brain but now was not the time for such pondering. Not when three wolves stood to his back, one vengeful and furious.

His wolf whimpered within, tail tucked between his legs like some timid dog and a similar rage bubbled and frothed in Merlin's own chest. Emboldened by this rage, familiar tasting and fiery on his tongue, Merlin turned, eyes blazing amber.

"Leave us." The command was terse and low, almost a whisper. Even Merlin quivered at the raw power underlying those words, the thrill of an Alpha's demand.

Arthur had clearly come into his own.

Morgana and Leon nodded obediently, crossing he room silent as ghosts. Neither looked at Merlin, but kept their heads down – and wasn't that strange? – and slipped from the room. The door snapped shut once more, this like a reprimand rather than a bullet but still a break in the silence.

Arthur sat in the armchair, leaning back now. His right ankle rested on his left knee and his hands pressed together as if in prayer and pressed lightly to his lips. He looked powerful and majestic, every bit the leader he was born to be and a brave coil of lust unfurled like a bloom in Merlin's gut before he stamped it down, seizing onto his anger like a lifeline.

Arthur's eyes burned when they opened and gazed upon Merlin. The fury was breathtaking – controlled and restrained, but unholy in its strength. Merlin swallowed a shudder and his wolf cowered within him.

"You bedded another." Arthur voice was dangerously quiet. His eyes glittered like gemstones.

Merlin jutted out his chin in defiance. "I fail to see how that is any of your business." He was dancing with fire, Merlin knew, but he was ablaze himself and could more than hold his own.

"Did he fuck you?" Crude. So crude. Arthur wanted to make it so, make it seem vulgar and disgusting, and the tone of his voice was just _dripping_ with derision and jealousy and possession. And it was _cold_. Over the past week Merlin had heard several different tones – gentle, angry, frustrated – but never cold.

The hurt was irrational.

Merlin knew that.

He _knew_ that.

But it still hurt.

"I fail to see how that is any of your business," Merlin repeated, teeth gritted. And Arthur was moving then, graceful and quick, so quick that Merlin barely had to react before he was shoved into the wall by an alpha only a shade away from baring fangs.

Merlin's neck jerked, instinct screaming at him to surrender, to submit to the wrath of his broken, betrayed dominant and alpha and take the punishment that was surely due him.

But Merlin refused. He was not claimed, either by the pack or by Arthur.

Arthur watched the battle between instinct and intelligence, between man and wolf with a strange kind of fascination. Merlin felt so alive pressed against him, chest heaving with rage and frustration, skin flushed and eyes glinting like steel. Red with anger, anger caused by Arthur, rather than lust evoked by another man.

Arthur growled, pressing Merlin further into the wall. How dare he –?

"Let me go, Arthur." Merlin's voice was shaky with so many different emotions. His scent was rocked up shades – it was driving him crazy, having Merlin by him but so tense, drenched in the smell of another, a residual of his pleasure spice in the back of his throat – something he should have been able to gorge himself on, to satisfy himself with again and again and again until Merlin was pleasure-weak and broken.

But there had been another –!

"_You are mine!" _ Clawed fingers gouge into the wall by Merlin's head and he flinched despite himself. Arthur's eyes flickered, but he didn't move. Merlin tensed under the words, under the thick, cloying possession that surrounds them, that _created _them.

"_I see no claiming mark!" _Merlin snarled back, lips peeling back as his teeth threaten to elongate into razor-fangs.

Arthur retaliated with a fearsome snarl, clawed fingers twisting in Merlin's hair. The violence was terrifying and exhilarating, a misplaced tendril of fear-lust curled and danced in Merlin's gut like a flame caught in a light breeze.

"You knew what we were. You knew and you _broke_ it – I felt that _break_!" Arthur slammed himself forward, so they were chest to heaving chest, breathing in each other's breath and glaring at amber eyes. "And do you feel it now, Merlin," Arthur purred – violence tempered but still there, a torrent of fury and betrayal and something so incredibly primal that Merlin _burned _with it. "Tying us together once more. You will never get rid of me. _Never_."

And the growl behind that was more animal than man and Merlin whimpered, his wolf creeping forward and baring his neck. Arthur's please growl rumbled in his chest as he traced the tip of his nose down the line of exposed throat.

"You are so ungrateful," he murmured, quietly, voice velvet with dark promise. "Such an ungrateful little bitch..." Arthur twisted the hand that was burrowed in Merlin's hair and yanked.

"Arthur!" Merlin's head was now pulled back at an almost uncomfortable angle, eye a curious mixed of outraged man and supplicating wolf. Arthur watched the two personalities shift and argue and fight. Blue and amber flickered and flamed and switched.

"You will know your place," Arthur whispered darkly, just as those eyes settled on amber.

There was a moment of high tension, thick and choking. Two wolves in the mask of men gazed at each other. One bared his teeth, hands clawed and shoulders tense as he stared the younger down, the petulant wolf, the disloyal wolf, the wolf who needed to be _taught a lesson_.

A heavy moment.

Then those eyes dropped.

The blonde wolf howled its delight – the kiss was brutal, punishing, bruising. Teeth buried in flesh, blood a bitter copper slick on the tongue and the brunet wolf whined in the back of his thought in submission, in apology.

The dominant wolf surged forward, those hips driving forward, rolling like a wave in a storm – constant, rushed, bordering on painful, swallowing those repentant noises that scorched the throat of its wayward mate. Bone ground into bone, grunts and growls swallowed by whimpers and whines, heat curling between them like a flame nursed to brightness.

Claws scratched and scored. Teeth nipped and drew blood. Eyes flashed and electric shot up spines – blood was smeared, pain a blaze, a pleasure and a punishment, both too much and too little.

How dare this little wolf deny him? How dare he? He will learn! _Mustbetaughtalesson. Minemineminemarkedupminenooneelse._

It was vicious, it was fury and anger. This was not a mating – this was a claiming, a show of possession and dominance.

This was a punishment.

Pleasure-pain was ricocheting through the very marrow of the brunet wolf, humiliation-lined bliss as he was brutally, harshly shoved towards orgasm – close, so close like a poison in his veins, he whined and pleaded and grappled with muscles begging for more, for less and everything in-between.

Oh god, and it hurt _sogood_ –

"No!"

All sensation was gone. The wolf receded, and Merlin was sprawled against the wall, dazed and unfocused. His jogging bottoms felt uncomfortable, his body felt raw and bloodied –a dull ache was beginning to seep over his muscles and he dropped his head.

His neck twinged.

He blinked blearily, rolling his head with his palm flat against the wall so that he would stumble on jelly knees.

He swallowed – his throat felt dry as the desert.

He just caught sight of Arthur's back to him, shoulders hunched. Merlin gazed down at his body, blinking. It took him a moment to register his now quieting erection, the disappointed sensation of a lost orgasm. It took him even longer to notice the mauling of his body, the claw marks that redden his chest, stomach and hips, the smudges of blood.

A wolf's punishment met human jealousy-fuelled rage to create this violent parody of sex.

As Merlin looked at the wounds now, they burned.

"...Arthur?" Merlin hated how weak his voice sounded, how unsure he was – the wolf brain still casting its influence. During his study of his body, Arthur must have allowed Morgana and Leon back into the room.

Merlin stared at them then back down at his body. Morgana was eyeing the wounds with a little sympathy, and Leon was just plain not looking.

Arthur cleared his throat from his place by the door. "I'm sorry," the blond said, voice tight and heavily controlled. "That should not have happened."

Merlin just nodded blankly.

"I should not have let the wolf take control."

Merlin shook his head.

"But I have an ultimatum for you." At this those light blue eyes collided with Merlin's, like a rock against a wall. "Leon is still Acting Alpha. Defeat him in a fight, and you walk away free to do whatever it is you need to do. Leon wins, and you become pack and we help you with whatever it is you need to do. You refuse either of these options and we report you to the Council. And you know that will not end well for you."

Merlin's attention snapped back. "You can't!"

Arthur's jaw clenched and Merlin had the brief thought of striding over and licking it. "We can, and you know it."

Merlin looked away, running his tongue over his teeth. Arthur was right of course. It was a fair challenge, one he couldn't refuse. Lone wolves weren't looked upon kindly – pack gives stability, gives sanity. Without it, slowly the human and wolf mind erode, like a cliff battered by the sea. The erosion caused a breakdown in rationale and to have one instinct without the other lead to terrible consequences.

The strain of Merlin's separation from her had not yet begun to show, because he remained focused on her, but it was only a matter of time before the fragile tie between them and the memory of her smell stopped working and the sea of separation met the cliff of his sanity.

The council would force a claiming, and hence the integration with a pack, or, should Merlin be too far gone, would organise an execution. And with the added information that Merlin was, for all intents or purposes, hunting hunters – they would probably just skip straight to the execution.

He would be hunted down like a rabbit and torn to shreds.

Merlin closed his eyes and shook his head.

That option was horrible but... he couldn't –

Drag these people into his past, into the darkness that haunted his dreams?

Merlin gritted his teeth.

But he had been alone for so long. Running, hunting, scavenging. Surviving only on a fading memory of dark hair, a glitter of laughter and a sweet scent.

But the shame. But the history that shaped him, built him and twisted him.

The _humiliation_.

Secret.

His secret. And to reveal that... to show these people just what he really was...

He shuddered.

He couldn't.

He wouldn't.

Merlin opened his eyes when he felt a small weight barrel into his waist and a small cub-whimper, and sniffling nose trailing goodness knows what across his lower belly. Mordred blinked up at him teary-eyed and trembling.

"Why'd you go?"

He would.


End file.
